The 100th Annual Hunger Games!
by Womble27
Summary: An AU where the rebellion failed, Katniss and Peeta died and the Hunger Games continued. I've taken on a huge task and done a Quarter Quell for my first HG fic. No longer an SYOT. Rated M for violence, just to be safe. After all, this is the Hunger Games...


**Welcome to the 100th Annual Hunger Games! And may the odds be ****_ever_**** in your favour! Sorry, but this is no longer an SYOT. I just couldn't write according to other peoples characters, they just kept wanting to go off and do their own thing. Still a multi-point of view fic though, you will witness most reapings and will get (hopefully) regular updates on all tributes who make it past the blood bath.**

**So, this is an AU where the rebellion failed, Katniss and Peeta died and the Hunger Games continued.**

**I've decided to do a Quarter Quell (why? o_O) and no, I'm not telling you all the twists!... yet. **

**I may take it into account if enough people review in regards to the survival of a particular tribute... then again, maybe I won't :P**

**I just wanted to get writing, so here is the first chapter :D **

**If you liked it, please review! Reviews just make my day :D**

* * *

**President Roseanne Snow.** **The Capitol.**

My left eye twitches with irritation as my secretary nervously pokes her head into my suite.

"Well?" I snap at her, resisting the urge to throw the steak knife I am holding at her head.

"Uh, it's not quite ready yet Ms President, m'am."

I let out a cry of annoyance, a full throated scream of frustration. Charlene speaks over me, her voice high and thin with panic as she tries to soothe me. I grind my teeth with anger at her inane platitudes.

"Please Ms President, if you would just allow us ten more minutes for alterations...!"

"No" I bark at her. She shuts up instantly, as almost everyone does when I speak.

"Five" I tell her. "I want it done in _five _minutes, Charlene. Am I clear?"

She nods unhappily, sensing the underlying threat in my words. I lazily twirl the steak knife between my fingers to emphasise my point.

She gulps. "Yes, Ms President. Of course." She hovers by the door, and I wave my hand in dismissal. With a slight incline of her head, she scurries from the room.

With a sigh, I rise from my chair and toss the knife back over my shoulder onto my almost untouched plate of food. Whatever chef made my meal for tonight is definitely getting fired. That steak was at least ten seconds overdone.

I move across the room to stand in front of the huge mirror that covers almost an entire wall. On impulse I shrug out of the cream silk robe I am wearing, then peel off the thin red nightgown. I gaze at my naked form, struck by the imagery of my discarded attire. How the immaculate robe hides the seductive scarlet. How the perfect, white façade covers the violence of blood. It is a metaphor for myself.

I look at my reflection. Twenty-four years. I do not recognise myself as the sixteen year old girl who twenty-four years ago saw her grandfather die at the hands of rebels. I do not recognise the simple child who loved to sit among the beautiful roses of her grandfather's garden. And most of all, I do not recognise the girl who once felt pity for those born outside of the Capitol's grace.

What I do recognise is the girl who commanded the Capitol's forces despite her age, and struck back at the districts during the second rebellion. What I recognise is the perfect face, twisted into a snarl as we attacked District 13 and discovered that their nuclear technology, the threat of which had saved them from the Capitol's vengeance so long ago, was a lie.

But most of all I recognise the girl who twenty-four years ago caught the Mockingjay, the leader of the rebellion. I caught the one who had killed my grandfather.

And I made her _pay_.

The most satisfying thing was watching her struggle against her bonds as the flames I had lit myself crept over her feet. She screamed and screamed, unable to believe that death had finally come for her after everything she had survived.

Twenty-four years ago, in a show that was broadcast to the whole of Panem, _the girl on fire burned._

* * *

Five minutes later, I am jolted from my reverie by a timid knock at the door.

"Ms President?" a voice questions from the other side. It's Charlene.

"Enter!" I yell, still looking at myself in the mirror. I am flawless. The Capitol surgeons have given me the perfect body, thin and angular with lovely breasts and shapely legs. My face is the epitome of Capitol beauty with high cheekbones, striking azure eyes and full lips. My raven hair falls in stylised curls to the centre of my back, and my face is already made up in anticipation of tonight.

Charlene enters the room, and holds my gaze despite my nakedness. Good. They have all learned that I consider it an insult for them to not look at me.

"Your dress, m'am" she says. And with a flourish she presents me with a froth of snow white tulle.

"Excellent!" I say, gracing her with one of my rare smiles. I whisk the dress from it's hanger and flatten it against my body, twirling about the room. I laugh, my first real laugh in a long time. The dress is exquisite.

I slip it on and the dress moulds to my body, fitting me like a second skin. The bodice is patterned with tiny diamonds, painstakingly sewn on by hand. The districts can only imagine such luxury. The dress hugs my breasts tightly, flaring out at the waist in a swirl of white chiffon that falls softly to just below my knees.

Charlene comes forward and begins adorning me with my jewellery. Diamonds sparkle in my hair and silver gleams at my wrists. A spray of rubies caresses my throat.

After digging through my extensive wardrobe, Charlene holds up a pair of towering patent red heels for my inspection. I nod in approval and she places them on the floor. She holds my hand to steady me as I step into them, and I am ready.

"How do I look?" I ask Charlene, my skirt flying up as I spin around.

"Wonderful, m'am. Simply beautiful" she replies with an ingratiating smile that doesn't reach her eyes. My eyes narrow in displeasure at her kiss-assery, but she is right. I am stunning.

I lean in to check my lipstick a final time in the mirror, and a shock of red catches my eyes. I turn around and my eyes fall on the vase of roses that I keep beside my bed. A strange compulsion grips me, and I scoop up one of the delicate blooms and place it gently in my hair, where it nestles among the midnight curls glowing softly like an exotic jewel.

"For you, grandfather" I whisper quietly.

"Are you ready m'am?" Charlene asks.

"Yes" I reply, moving across the room and sweeping past her on my way out of the door.

Tonight must go flawlessly. My first Quarter Quell announcement and nothing can go wrong.

Everything must be perfect. I will stand for nothing less and neither will the citizens of Panem.

Tonight. Tonight for everything.

* * *

The glorious anthem rings out as I ascend the stage in front of the Training Centre. A young girl dressed in scarlet follows me, holding the simple wooden box that holds the Quell envelopes. I step up to the microphone amidst the screams of the Capitol citizens.

"Good evening Panem!" I cry. The crowd goes wild, intoxicated by just being near me, chanting my name.

"_Roseanne, Roseanne, Roseanne!_"

I give an indulgent smile, holding up my hands for silence. The crowd settles down into excited whispering.

"One hundred and five years ago, the thirteen districts that made up Panem rose up against the Capitol that guided them and protected them. A five year long, bloody war followed, now known as the Dark Days."

I give a slight cough before continuing.

"One hundred years ago, the Dark Days ended when twelve of the districts were defeated, and the thirteenth subjugated and forced into seclusion. Then the Treaty of Treason gave us new laws to guarantee peace in Panem. And as a reminder to the districts that the Dark Days must never be repeated, it gave us the Hunger Games. The rules of the Games are simple. Once a year, twenty-four tributes, a boy and a girl from each district, would be taken to the Capitol and placed in a vast outdoor arena to fight to the death. The last tribute standing would be the victor."

I step a little closer to the microphone, impassioned about my speech.

"Every year the districts were reminded, and yet our message and our warning went unheeded! Twenty-four years ago, the districts once again rose up against the Capitol in a rebellion that has become more commonly known as the Everdeen Uprising, after the leader of the rebellion. A past Hunger Games victor, Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire. She killed your President, my grandfather, Coriolanus Snow, igniting a fury within the Capitol that they could not even begin to comprehend.

And they burned for their misjudgement.

Twenty-four years ago, I lead our forces to victory once more against the districts. Once more, twelve districts were defeated. And this time, District 13 was obliterated."

The audience are hanging on my every word.

"This is the power of the Capitol!" I cry. "And in punishment for the uprising, District 12 is now compelled to offer double the number of tributes each year in payment for the rebel leaders having come from there."

The audience are whispering now, wondering exactly where I'm going with this.

Time to bring things back on track.

"As you all know, this year marks the one hundredth anniversary of the Hunger Games, making it a Quarter Quell. When the laws for the Games were laid out, they dictated that every twenty-five years the anniversary would be marked by a Quarter Quell, a glorified version of the Games to make fresh the memory of those killed by the districts' rebellion.

Each Quell is designed to reinforce the point that uprisings should not occur.

On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it.

On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes.

On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them could not overcome the power of the Capitol, all tributes were reaped from the existing pool of victors.

And now, on the one hundredth anniversary of the Hunger Games, a new tradition will begin."

The audience are intrigued, they sense something big coming. They have no idea.

"Since this is the first Quarter Quell since the rebellion, it has been decided that, hence forth, each Quell will have two twists, one for each rebellion started by the districts."

Cries of excitement echo from the crowd.

I motion the girl holding the box forward. She hands the box to me, curtsying prettily. I open the box, allowing the camera to pan over it and display the contents to the whole of Panem.

Inside are the usual Quell envelopes with their numbers stamped boldly on their fronts, yellowed with age. What is surprising are the crisp, clean white envelopes that have been slotted neatly behind each of their older counterparts. These were created and sealed solely by my Head Gamemaker. Even I do not know what they contain.

I place the box on a rosewood table that has been set up specially nearby, then lean into the microphone.

"I can tell you're all very excited!" I cry happily into the microphone. The screams of the crowd confirm my words. "But we wouldn't want to ruin the suspense for you, now would we?" I smile at the cameras, giving my signature wink and giggle. "So it has been decided that the original Quarter Quell envelope shall be read tonight..."

I pause allowing the audience to grow completely frantic before I alleviate their suspense.

"...and the new Quell envelope shall be read as the Games begin and the tributes enter the arena."

The crowd sighs collectively, half in disappointment and half in anticipation.

I give a dazzling smile. "Now, citizens of Panem, we shall honour our fourth Quarter Quell!"

The crowd goes wild as I reach into the box and remove a yellowed envelope marked clearly with a '_100_'.

I run my finger under the flap, and remove the card. My lip curls in satisfaction as I read it: there could not have been a better twist to illustrate the point I am trying to make.

Without hesitation, I read the card out loud.

"On the one hundredth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that without the good grace of the Capitol they will not survive, there will be no sponsors for this year's Hunger Games."

There is a sharp intake of breath from the shocked crowd. Everyone in the Capitol knows that without sponsors, it can be extremely difficult to survive in the arena.

Then the audience comes alive with cheers, as these Games promise to be some of the bloodiest yet. And they still have another twist to look forward to!

Ha. How little they know about the number of twists I have planned. This year's Hunger Games will be the most spectacular to date, so much so that they will _never _be forgotten.

There is a message to send to the districts here, and I swore on the dust of my grandfather's grave that I would send it.

I plaster a cheery smile on my face, and lean once more into the microphone.

"Happy Hunger Games, Panem! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favour!"

I smile cruelly as I leave the stage and walk quickly to my scheduled conference with the Head Gamemaker.

Let the Games begin.


End file.
